


Till We Have Faces

by equipoise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, PxSweek 2016, Secret Relationship, The Starks are alive and Sansa is just a very naughty girl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 17:38:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7854685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/equipoise/pseuds/equipoise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>One face he wears for them, another just for her. Does Sansa really know her lover at all?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>For <a href="http://petyrsansaweek.tumblr.com/">PxS Week on tumblr</a> - Day 3 word: Masks</p>
            </blockquote>





	Till We Have Faces

He’s always been so careful with her, in public.  
  
Meticulous is the word that comes to mind, though she thinks it isn’t quite the right one.  
  
Thorough. Fastidious. Never letting his hand show for more than a glance. The heat that passes between them in private may as well come from a different man altogether. That hungry look is for her eyes only. At times, she rather likes the juxtaposition.  
  
She was young when they met. Too young. Impressionable and hopelessly romantic. Petyr Baelish wasn’t the one putting stars in her eyes in those days. It was a boy. Only a boy. With hard eyes and a cruel smile. With sweaty palms and thin fingers that bruised her wrists in all the wrong ways.  
  
But he was gone, now. And there was only Petyr on her mind. Filling her thoughts with such wicked notions. His smile like a knife, slicing through her defenses and her protests. 

He’s too old for her. Too experienced. 

( _Is there really such a thing as too much experience?_ )  
  
He dated her mother once, back in high school. Only one date but it had taken him a whole year to ask, Catelyn jokes. She won’t say why there was never a second date.  
  
Sansa brings it up to him only once, as they are lounging in a swanky hotel room that smells of sex.  
  
Petyr’s eyes turn cold. “It was another lifetime,” he answers dismissively.  
  
She wants to ask more questions but the look on his face staunches the flow of any further conversation. He’s never looked at her like that before. The way he looks at everyone else, that shuttered gaze, barely masking his contempt.  
  
He takes her once more that night. Hard, fast, and silent. The next day, she finds bruises on her hips in the shape of his fingertips. The right kind of bruises, she thinks, if there can be such a thing. But made the wrong way. Normally, when he leaves marks, she wears them with a sense of breathless pride. Her pretty face may seem serene in its innocence while beneath her clothes, she is mapped with his attentions. 

These marks, though, she can’t wait to see fade. 

He’d never hurt her. Not really. But he’s made his point. 

She never asks him about her mother, again. 

Sometimes it occurs to her that she shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be meeting a man twice her age to fuck in expensive hotels or after hours in her father’s office. Shouldn’t be laid out across the boardroom table as he buries his head between her thighs and voraciously devours her. But the forbidden nature of the affair only adds to that flutter in her stomach, the way she clenches and shudders with him hot and hard inside her. 

They’ve never been caught, despite flirting with disaster from the beginning. Petyr knows where all the cameras are and how to avoid or dismantle them.

Meticulous. 

Maybe it’s the right word after all. 

The bruises from his fingers have long since disappeared. He’s made new ones that she likes far more, driving himself deep within her and whispering filth in her ear. The next day she picks out a lightweight blouse with a high neckline and long sleeves. She can still feel him as she slides into her seat at the boardroom table. She’s the first to arrive, as usual.  
  
She is Sansa, the intern, now. The dutiful daughter working at her father’s company to learn all she can.  
  
Petyr is early as well and part of her wonders if he planned it that way. He grins at her, noting the choice of clothing, knowing what she needed to hide. Nothing ever escapes his notice. 

She smiles back, sly and teasing. 

The rest of the board begins to trickle in and take their seats. Sansa looks away from Petyr to greet them politely. By the time she looks back, Petyr is gone. He is replaced by the ever-professional Mr. Baelish, consulting guru and bane of the accounting department. The man who produces stock increases like breeding bunnies from a magician’s hat. The man her father cannot stand and her mother only tolerates because the company has been in the black since they took him on. 

Sansa asks a well thought out question and his eyes barely flick to her, his face indifferent. His answer, addressed to the room, is brief and to the point but she can tell he’s pleased by her astute observation. A few minutes later, when another speaker has taken the floor, she feels her phone buzz. 

> P: Good girl. You’ll get a reward, tonight. 

A shiver runs through her, pulse spiking as her thighs press together under the table. She tries not to fidget in her seat through the rest of the meeting, fighting the urge to catch his eye again. He looks at her only once more, as the other men and women in expensive suits file out. For just a split second she thinks she sees the mask of _Mr. Baelish_ slip, thinks she catches the glint in Petyr’s eye. 

Anticipation. 

But it is gone faster than it appears and he is striding back to his office, leaving Sansa to stare down at her phone and wonder - for possibly the millionth time- who it really is that she’s let into her bed. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from a lovely retelling of Eros and Psyche by CS Lewis.


End file.
